ROOSEVELT’S POV

I stood in the middle of the living room, my arms hanging by my sides as I stared at my daughter's back. A cold, sharp pain pierced my chest.

"Lorna?" I asked softly, taking a slow, hesitant step toward her. "Did you hear me, bug? Mama is home."

"I heard you," Lorna muttered not looking up from her coloring book, her hand pressed the crayon so hard against the paper that it almost broke.

"Are you feeling okay?" I asked, dropping to my knees next to her. "Did something happen at school today? Did somebody make you sad?"

"No," Lorna replied flatly and turned slightly away from me,...